The Score

  I snicker. Hannah, diplomatic as always. I quickly scan the last two messages.

  Garrett: Allie’s gonna crash in my room.

  Garrett: Your dick can stay in your room.

  Jeez, what is everybody’s fascination with my dick?

  And could their timing be any worse? My rueful gaze shifts back to the couch. Kelly’s fingers are exactly where I wish mine were right now.

  I clear my throat and both girls glance over. Michelle’s expression is hazy from the extra special attention her friend is giving her.

  “I really hate to do this, but you ladies need to go,” I tell them.

  Two pairs of eyes widen. “Excuse me?” Kelly blurts out.

  “I’ve got an unexpected houseguest waiting outside,” I grumble. “Which means this house just became a PG-zone.”

  Michelle snickers. “Since when do you care if anyone sees you fucking?”

  True. Usually I don’t give a damn if there’s anyone around. Most times I prefer it. But I can’t expose my debauchery to Hannah’s friend. Or to Hannah and Grace, for that matter. The boys, who cares. They know the drill. But I know Garrett and Logan wouldn’t be cool with me corrupting their girlfriends. The moment they entered committed-relationship territory, my former wingmen turned into prudes. It’s sad, really.

  “This guest is a delicate flower,” I say dryly. “She’d probably faint if she saw the three of us together.”

  “I would not.” Allie’s annoyed voice comes from the doorway.

  I’m equally annoyed. Chick just walks into the house like she owns it? Nuh-uh.

  I scowl at her. “I told you to wait outside.”

  “And I told you I was cold,” she shoots back. And she seems to have no issue with the fact that there are two naked girls ten feet away.

  My guests study Allie as if she’s a splotch of bacteria under their microscopes. Then they wrinkle their noses and dismiss her from their sights as if she’s, well, nothing but a splotch of bacteria under their microscopes. Chicks tend to get competitive when I’m around, but obviously these ones don’t view Allie as competition.

  Not sure I blame them. She’s wearing a puffy black jacket, boots and mittens, and her blond hair is sticking out the bottom of a red knit hat. It’s the first week of November—there’s no snow on the ground, barely a chill in the air, and nothing to warrant bundling up. Unless you’re a crazy person. Which I’m starting to suspect Allie Hayes might be, because the girl brazenly waltzes into the living room and flops down in the armchair opposite the couch.

  As she unzips her coat, she spares a glance at my guests, then turns back to me. “Why don’t you move this little party upstairs? I’ll stay down here and watch a movie or something.”

  “Or you can go to Garrett’s room and watch a movie up there,” I say pointedly. But truthfully, it doesn’t matter. She’s already killed the mood, and I don’t feel comfortable fooling around with two chicks when it’s just me and Hannah’s best friend in the house.

  Sighing, I turn to the girls. “Rain check?”

  Neither of them puts up much of a fight. Apparently Miss Allie didn’t just kill the mood, she scorched the fuckin’ earth and covered it with salt to prevent horniness from ever growing back.

  Allie barely pays attention to the girls getting dressed. She’s too busy removing a thousand layers of winter clothing and draping them over the side of the armchair. When she’s done, she looks substantially tinier in black leggings and an oversized striped top, and she wastes no time making herself comfortable on the big plush chair.

  I walk Kelly and Michelle to the door, where each one practically chews my face off before telling me they’re holding me to that rain check. By the time they’re gone, my lips are swollen and my cock is hard again.

  I return to the living room with a frown that refuses to quit. “Did you enjoy that?” I demand.

  “Enjoy what?”

  “Cockblocking me.”

  Allie laughs. “Is there any reason you couldn’t have taken Blonde and Blonder upstairs? You didn’t have to kick them out on my account.”

  “You really think I could screw around knowing you’re sitting downstairs?”

  That gets me another laugh. “You screw around in public. All the time. Why do you care if I’m in the house?” She looks thoughtful. “Unless going up to your room is the issue. Hannah said you always fool around in the living room. What’s the deal with that? Do you have bedbugs or something?”

  I grit my teeth. “No.”

  “Then why don’t you want to do your naked stuff up there?”

  “Because—” I halt, the scowl returning to my face. “It’s none of your business. Why are you here, anyway? Did Bristol House catch fire?”

  “I’m in hiding.” She says it as if I’m supposed to understand that. Then she glances around the living room. “Where’s Tucker? Garrett said he’d be here.”

  “He’s out.”

  She sticks out her bottom lip. “Well, that sucks. He totally would’ve watched a movie with me. But I guess you’ll have to do.”

  “You cockblock me and now you expect us to hang out?”

  “Trust me, you’re the last person I want to hang out with, but I’m in crisis mode right now and you’re the only one here. You have to keep me company, Dean. Otherwise I’ll do something really stupid and my whole life will be ruined.”

  I seem to remember Hannah telling me Allie is a drama major. Yeah. Sounds about right.

  “Please?”

  Her pleading expression doesn’t let up. And I’ve always been a sucker for big blue eyes. Especially when they belong to cute blondes with great racks.

  “You win,” I relent. “I’ll keep you company, okay?”

  She lights up. “What movie should we watch?”

  A groan lodges in my throat. My Friday night went from hot threesome sex to babysitting my best friend’s girlfriend’s best friend.

  Oh, and I’m still rock-hard thanks to Kelly and Michelle’s goodbye kisses.

  Fucking wonderful.

  2

  Allie

  My self-control rests in the hands of Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis, a man known for zero self-control. Ergo, I’m in trouble. Big fucking trouble.

  I won’t do it, though. I won’t call Sean. Doesn’t matter that twenty minutes ago he sent me a picture of the two of us from our Mexico trip last year. He’d used one of those framing apps to draw a big red heart around our faces.

  It had been a really good trip…

  I push the memory aside and grab the remote control off the coffee table. “Do you have Netflix linked to your TV?” I glance back at Dean, who still looks aggravated by my presence.

  And either I’m imagining it or he has an erection. But I’m nice enough not to tease him about it, because in his defense, he was five seconds away from having sex with two girls before I showed up.

  My gaze travels over his bare chest. I cannot tell a lie—his chest is absolutely spectacular. The guy’s ripped. Tall and lean, with perfectly sculpted muscles. And he’s rocking some scruff—sexy blond bristles that shadow his perfectly chiseled jaw. It really is a shame. Someone this douchey shouldn’t be allowed to look this good.

  “Yeah. Go ahead and pick something to watch,” he answers. “I’m just popping upstairs to jerk it and then I’ll join you.”

  “Okay, I think I’m in the mood for—wait, what?”

  But he’s already gone, leaving me gaping at the empty doorway. He’s popping upstairs to do what? He was joking, right?

  Despite my better judgment, I picture it. Dean up in his room. One hand wrapped around his dick, the other hand…cupping his balls? Clutching the sheets? Or maybe he’s standing up and gripping the side of his desk, his features drawn as he bites his bottom lip…

  And why am I trying to solve the mystery of how this guy masturbates?

  Shaking myself out of it, I click the remote until I find Netflix, then start browsing the latest movie titles.

&nbsp
; Less than five minutes later, Dean saunters back into the room. Thankfully he put on some pants. Except he ditched his boxers in the process, which I know because his sweatpants are riding so low on his hips I can almost see…places I have no interest in seeing.

  His chest is still bare, and there’s a slight flush to his cheeks.

  “Did you seriously jerk off just now?” I demand.

  He nods as if it’s no biggie. “What, you think I can sit through a whole movie with blue balls?”

  I gawk at him. “So you can’t have sex with anyone while I’m in the house, but you can go upstairs and do that?”

  A wolfish grin stretches his mouth. “I could’ve done it down here, but then you would’ve been too tempted to take over for me. I was trying to be nice.”

  It’s hard not to roll my eyes. So I don’t bother fighting the urge. “Trust me, I would have kept my hands to myself.”

  “With my cock right there in the open? No way. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself.” He arches a brow. “I have a great cock.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m sure you do.”

  “You don’t believe me? I can show you a picture.” He reaches for the phone on the coffee table. Then he stops and grabs the waistband of his sweatpants instead. “Actually, I can show you the real thing if you want.”

  “I don’t want. In the slightest.” I gesture to the TV. “I picked that one. Have you seen it?”

  Dean grimaces at the movie poster on the screen. “For chrissake, that’s what you chose? There’re like three new horror movies we could watch. Or Jason Statham’s entire filmography.”

  “No horror movies,” I say firmly. “I don’t like to be scared.”

  “Fine. So let’s do an action movie.”

  “I don’t like violence.”

  His cheeks hollow in frustration. “Baby doll, I am not watching a movie about—” He squints at the screen “‘a woman’s life-changing journey after being diagnosed with a terminal illness.’ No fucking way.”

  “It’s supposed to be really good,” I protest. “It won an Oscar!”

  “You know what else won an Oscar? Silence of the Lambs. Jaws. The Exorcist.” He sounds smug. “And they’re all horror movies.”

  “We can argue about this all night, but I’m not watching anything with blood or sharks or explosions. Deal with it.”

  Dean’s teeth are visibly clenched. Then his jaw relaxes and he releases a heavy breath. “Fine. If I have to suffer through this crap movie, I’m smoking a joint first.”

  “Whatever gets you through it, sweetie.”

  He walks toward the doorway, grumbling something under his breath.

  “Wait,” I call after him. I quickly fish my phone out of my jacket pocket. “Can you take this with you? I might give in to texting temptation if I’m left alone with it.”

  He gives me a weird look. “Who you trying not to text?”

  “My ex. We broke up last night and he won’t stop messaging me.”

  There’s a pause. “You know what? You’re coming with me.”

  I barely have time to blink before Dean crosses the room and tugs me off the chair. When my feet connect with the hardwood floor, I lose my balance and stumble right into his massive chest, my nose bumping one defined pec.

  I quickly steady myself, armed with a glare. “I was comfy, you ass.”

  He ignores me, half-leading, half-dragging me to the kitchen. Since he didn’t even let me grab my jacket, I start shivering the second we step through the back door.

  Dean’s bare chest gleams under the patio light. He doesn’t seem bothered by the cold, but his nipples pucker slightly in the chilly night air.

  “Ugh. You even have perfect nipples,” I gripe.

  His lips twitch. “Do you wanna touch ’em?”

  “Ew. Never. I’m just commenting that they’re frickin’ perfect. Like, totally proportioned to your chest.”

  He peers down at his pecs and considers for a moment. “Yeah. I am perfect. I need to remind myself of that more often.”

  I snort. “Right. Because you’re not already conceited enough.”

  “I’m confident,” he corrects.

  “Conceited.”

  “Confident.” He pops open the small tin box he grabbed from the kitchen, and I scowl when he extracts a neatly rolled joint and a Zippo.

  “Why am I out here?” I grumble. “I don’t want to smoke weed.”

  “Sure you do.” He lights up and takes a deep drag, then speaks through the escaping cloud of smoke. “You’re acting all jittery and weird. Trust me, you need this.”

  “This is peer pressure, you know.”

  He holds out the joint, one eyebrow raised. “Come on, baby,” he coaxes in a singsong voice. “Just one toke. All the cool kids are doing it.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Fuck off.”

  “Suit yourself.” He exhales again, and the scent of marijuana surrounds me.

  I can’t remember the last time I got high. I don’t do it often, but honestly? If any night merits some weed-induced serenity, it’s this one.

  “Oh, fine. Give it to me.” I stick out my hand before I can second-guess myself.

  Dean is beaming as he passes it over. “That’s my girl. But don’t tell Wellsy. She’ll kick my ass if she thinks I’m corrupting her best friend.”

  I wrap my lips around the joint and draw the smoke into my lungs, trying not to laugh at the genuine apprehension on Dean’s face. He’s probably right to be afraid of Hannah. Girl’s got a sharp tongue and she isn’t afraid to use it. That’s why I love her.

  We spend the next couple minutes passing the joint back and forth in silence like a couple of hooligans loitering behind a gas station. This is the first time we’ve spent any time alone together, and it feels weird hanging out in the backyard with a shirtless Dean Di Laurentis. If I’m being honest, I’ve never known what to make of the guy. He’s cocky, flirtatious…

  Superficial.

  I feel like an ass for thinking it, but I can’t deny that’s what comes to mind whenever I see Dean. Hannah told me he’s filthy rich, and it totally shows. Not in the pompous, watch-me-roll-around-in-my-money-vault sense, but in the way he struts around like the world is his oyster. I have a feeling he’s never experienced a second of hardship in his life. Looking at him, you just know this guy gets whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.

  Huh. And apparently marijuana makes me both philosophical and judgmental.

  “So you got dumped?” he finally asks, watching me take another hit.

  I blow smoke right in his face. “I did not get dumped. I’m the one who ended it.”

  “The same guy you’ve been with forever? The frat guy? Stan?”

  “Sean. And yeah, we’ve been dating on and off since freshman year.”

  “Jesus. That’s way too long to be screwing the same person. Was the sex really boring?”

  “Why is everything with you always about sex?” I pass the joint back. “And FYI—the sex was fine.”

  “Fine?” He snickers. “Wow, what a ringing endorsement.”

  I’m already feeling the effects of the weed, my head light and my body relaxed, which is probably the only reason I keep talking. Normally, I wouldn’t dream of confiding in this guy.

  “I guess it wasn’t the best by the end,” I admit. “But maybe that’s because we’ve pretty much been fighting since the summer.”

  “But this isn’t the first breakup, right? Why’d you keep going back to him?”

  “Because I love him.” I correct myself, “Loved him.” God, I don’t even know anymore. “The first couple times we broke up, it wasn’t because either of us did anything wrong. I thought we were getting too serious, too fast. It was freshman year, and it seemed like we should be sowing our wild oats and all that crap.”

  “Sowing oats is fun,” he agrees solemnly. “One time I sowed this really hot oat who poured maple syrup all over my dick and then licked it off.”

  “Ew.” I roll my eyes.
“And actually, the oat sowing sucked. I went out with a few guys and they were all total sleazebags. It made me realize how good I had it with Sean.”

  Dean blows another cloud of smoke. “Okay. But then you guys broke up again.”

  “Yeah.” The memory evokes a rush of aggravation. “That time it was because he got insanely controlling. One of his frat brothers hit on me at a party, and Sean decided that nobody was ever allowed to look at me again. He started telling me how to dress, texting all the time asking where I was and who I was with. It was suffocating.”

  It’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “Says the chick who got back together with him afterward.”

  “He promised it would be different. And it was. He stopped being clingy, and he was so good to me after that.”

  Dean seems unconvinced, but I don’t care. I don’t regret taking Sean back. After two and a half years with the guy, I knew we had something worth fighting for.

  “Which brings us to breakup number four.” Dean slants his head curiously. “What happened?”

  Discomfort squeezes my chest. “I told you. We were fighting a lot.”

  “About what?”

  The words spill out before I can stop them. Damn it. Did he lace this weed with truth serum or something? “Mostly about graduation and what we’re going to do after college. My plan was always to move to LA and focus on my acting career.”

  Or New York… But I don’t mention that to Dean. I still haven’t made any decisions, and Dean is the last person I want to discuss deep, life-changing career moves with. The guy’s about as deep as a puddle.

  “Sean was okay with it when we first started dating, but this summer he suddenly decided he doesn’t want me to go into acting. Actually, he doesn’t want me to work at all.” I frown. “He got it into his head that he’s going to work at his dad’s insurance firm in Vermont and I’m going to be the happy homemaker who has dinner waiting for him when he gets home.”

  Dean shrugs. “Nothing wrong with being a homemaker.”

  “Of course not, but I don’t want to be a homemaker,” I say in frustration. “I’ve spent almost four years working my ass off to earn this drama degree. I want to use it. I want to be an actress, and I can’t be with someone who doesn’t support me. He—” I stop, biting my lip.